Can learning happen without the learner knowing it?

I spent most of last Friday on a tour of Thanksgiving Point with a group of fellow graduate students who are working with Thanksgiving Point management on a project I have blogged about in a previous post.   We visited each of the three main venues at Thanksgiving Point and at each venue our tour was facilitated by the director of that particular museum or attraction.  Among other things, they oriented us to their venue, helped us understand the guest experience, and showcased exhibits or features they felt were particular noteworthy.  One of the directors, while taking us through his space, repeatedly made the comment that "kids are learning here, they just don't know it."  After hearing that statement three or four times in a matter of an hour, I started to wonder what that might mean.  And, it highlighted for me the fact that we frequently assume that learning is occurring without any real evidence that it is.  The TP manager we spoke with assumed that kids, parents, and other guests were learning while participating in the museum experience his venue provides, but it was just that--an assumption. 

In the title of this post I posed a question--can someone learn without knowing it?  I think the answer to that question probably depends on how a person defines "learning."  But, I'm willing to concede that "unconscious learning" might happen in some cases (e.g. The gradual process of becoming a more skilled artist or musician or the familiarity with a new neighborhood that comes over time).  But, the larger issue here is how much more meaningful learning is when the learner recognizes that it is happening.  And, helping learners see they have learned, seems like an important function for educators and educational environments to play.  This could happen in any number of ways, but here are a few

1.  Clearly articulate what you hope will be learned.  Sometimes just alerting learners to what it is they should or could be learning, helps them recognize it when it happens.  The old adage, "you see what you're looking for" applies here.

2.  Ask them to reflect at key points in the experience.  Ask learners what they are learning and how they are learning it.  This could happen at just about any point in the learning process, but beginnings and endings present nice opportunities for reflection.  What's more comparing these sorts of pre-post reflections reveals to learners how they have changed and provides an opportunity for them to identify how to replicate the learning process on their own.  

3.  Celebrate learning.  Provide opportunities for learners to demonstrate, share, highlight, or reveal what they have learned.  Not only do these sorts of activities deepen learning for individual learners, they communicate to the larger community of learners (a class, a school, an organization) what type of learning the community values.

4.  Provide opportunities for learners to teach one another.  Nothing lets us know how well we know something like trying to teach it to someone else.  And, the process of articulating knowledge not only reveals what a learner does and doesn't know, it deepens understanding and raises new questions that facilitate additional learning.

When ideals and viability collide

On Tuesday evening, the Provo School Board approved a renovation of the Provo High School football complex.  Anyone who has driven by the stadium knows that this sort of project is long overdue, particularly when Bulldog stadium is compared to its neighbor up the hill at Timpview High School.  The challenge for Provo School District is how to fund capital projects like this one, in the face of ever shrinking budgets and a reeling economy.  Not surprisingly then, Tuesday evening's conversation about the renovation at Provo High was dominated by talk of where the money will come from.  The Board of Education has committed $125,000 on the front end of the project and has agreed to subsidize the cost of replacing the track that surrounds the field, but falls far short of the nearly $1.5 million that is needed for the two proposed phases of the project. The Board's solution?  Sell the naming rights for the stadium and field to the highest bidder.

At first glance something like this seems like a fine idea and common practice in the world of sports.  After all, we could probably all rattle of a list of 5 or 10 athletic venues named after corporations (e.g. The Staples Center in LA, The TD Boston Garden, or Energy Solutions Arena in Salt Lake City).  The sense among Board Members on Tuesday was that everyone wins.  The district brings in a large sum of cash, student-athletes have a great venue to play in, community members have something to be proud of, and a local business gets publicity.  But, it seems like a slippery slope to me and one that leads down an increasingly problematic path where, eventually, educational ideals are likely to be compromised (as evidenced by this extreme case from a Sacramento School District).  Of course, community businesses have always been partners with local schools when it comes to athletics.  They hang banners at the fields, have their names in the program, and donate goods at reduced cost for concessions.  But, in large part, it avoids major problems and conflicts of interest because of its scale.  The banners are for the gas station down the street, the concessions come from the local grocery store, and the programs are paid for by the trophy shop around the corner.  In other words, the money put up is small and those contributing are people that have at least a small stake in what happens at the school on Friday nights.

Provo District, however, is headed down a different path by asking for million dollar donations.  That sort of invitation brings in a much different bidder--one with deep pockets no doubt, but whose intentions aren't likely to be as pure as the burger joint down the road whose owners have had children and grandchildren don jerseys for the school.  When asked who his potential donors were, JT McGraw (the driving force behind the project) mentioned that Frontier Airlines would be at the top of his list.  It's a savvy move considering their the airline's recent announcement, but one has to ask how much Frontier airlines really cares about Provo High athletics.  And, in addition to their name on the stadium, what else might they want to see happen in exchange for their donation?  Half-time announcements?  Frontier's logo on the jerseys?  Where does it stop?

Those, of course, are all extreme examples.  But in thinking through these sorts of partnerships, schools need to consider where they might lead.  The next time the library needs a remodel, do we end up with the Subway Social Sciences shelf or the Domino's Pizza study hall?  And, based on the view of Board Member Darryl Alder--who commented that the district should try to sell naming rights for anything and everything it can--that sort of thing isn't out of the question.  

Even in college athletics, where corruption and profit-driven decisions are almost the norm, institutions have largely avoided corporate naming rights for their venues.  Most have distinct names, completely removed from individuals or corporations (e.g. The Cotton Bowl, The Rose Bowl, Harvard Stadium, and the "Big House" at Michigan).  Even when the stadium does have a namesake, it is almost always an individual or family who, while donating large sums of money, is a key part of the community in those places (e.g. Rice-Eccles Stadium in Salt Lake City, Heinz Field in Pittsburgh, or Doak Campbell Stadium in Tallahassee).  

So, the question Provo needs to ask is where this is all leading and if they'll really end up in a place that they want to be in.  Sometimes giving up a bit of money, in the name of doing what is best for students (like this community college in Texas) is a better road.

On

Attending to culture and tradition as part of the change process

I am currently part of a group that has been asked to participate in helping Thanksgiving Point, a non-profit organization housed in Lehi, Utah, to rethink the way its staff and volunteers interact with visitors to their venues.  It has been an interesting project because it has taken us nearly two months to even begin to understand "the problem," as it were, and what it is that we are trying to design or redesign.  In a nutshell, the Thanksgiving Point leadership hopes that we can help them prepare "ambassadors" who can enhance the guest experience by, among other things, facilitating meaningful learning in the various venues, connecting guests with parts of the property they may not be aware of, and putting a "human face" on the Thanksgiving Point experience.

Problems or projects like the one facing Thanksgiving Point are interesting opportunities to see how groups go about facilitating change.  One approach (and the one that is probably typical in organizations) is to roll out a new program, provide training to employees/staff to prepare them to "get in line" and implement the new program, and then to follow-up to make sure things are going as planned.  It is very top-down and directive, which often sounds attractive because it appears to be "clean," simple, and efficient.  Those that employ this approach seem to operate under the assumption that they can tell people what is going to happen, show or teach them about how to make it happen, and then follow up to make sure it is happening.  In higher ed we might see this process at work when a campus institutes a common reading program, adopts the campus-wide use of ePortfolios, or when a college decides that they are "going to do learning communities."  The thinking is that "best practices," "innovations," or other changes can simply be rolled out and that a few years down the road all of the kinks will be worked out and things will be good.  And there are a standard set of methods for facilitating change that flow from this paradigm--orientation meetings, manuals, training workshops, and accountability measures to name a few.

The problem with these types of approaches is that they fail to recognize that change does not occur in a vacuum--each organization has its own "story" that traditions, values, and an embedded culture that dictates the way people speak, think, interact, and make decisions.  So, any change effort must in some way or another address the issue of how to change or modify culture.  

What the group I am on is starting to realize is that what Thanksgiving Point has really asked us to help them with is a change in culture, particularly as it relates to staff-guest interactions.  So, although new employee handbooks, training meetings, or edicts from adminstrative leadership might play a role in the change, they can't be the end.  In fact, a superficial approach to change that only employs these methods is likely to engender resentment and counterculture.

So, how does one go about changing culture?  There don't seem to be any simple processes or steps, but there are a few things that seem to be important.

Vision:  It is nearly impossible to create a new culture when key stakeholders aren't in agreement as to what the new culture will look, sound, or feel like.  The danger here is in getting bogged down trying to negotiate.  Of course, some negotiation, particularly at the top, is critical, bringing too many stakeholders to the table might mean that you never get anywhere.

Visibility:  Images are powerful.  And, what people see when they are on a campus, in a corporate office comples, or walking through a venue communicate a lot about what the organization values.  I was on the campus of Westminster College earlier this week and noticed that their learning goals and mission statement appear all over campus where students will see them.  My guess is that these things have been part of the Westminster culture for some time, but there are new students that arrive on campus every fall and they need to be brought into the culture.  Letting them "see" the culture each day on campus helps.  

Stories:  The stories that are told within an organization help to form, reveal, and shape the culture.  If we want to change culture we need to look at the stories that are told and whether they represent the values, priorities, and traditions we associate with the desired culture.  Sometimes we already have the stories, but just need to find ways to tell them or tell them more effectively.  Other times, we have to go looking for the stories.  And, two types of stories seem useful.  First, "institutional" stories that tell the story of the organization (e.g. its history, defining moments, narratives about key figures/leaders, etc.) and which are told by the organization.  Second, "personal" stories told by individual members of the community but which align with the same messages conveyed by the institutional stories.  Not only are stories more emtionally powerful, but they are often more instructive than are overly-generalized or vague mission statements or statements of purpose.

Relationships:  Much of the culture of a place is transmitted and represented in the interactions that take place between members of the community.  In my first year on my campus as an administrator, I learned more about how to do my job (or how others wanted me to do my job) by the conversations and interactions I had with colleagues, particularly senior colleagues, than any manual or orientation could have ever taught me.  So a cultural shift requires that we examine the way interactions occur among community members, particularly newcomers and what Jean Lave has termed "oldtimers" or veterans.  By identifying the mentors or experts in our organizations who have bought into the culture we want, we can provide opportunities for them to interact in authentic ways with newcomers and invite them into the culture we want.  Over time, this relationship-based approach can have a renewing effect on an organization and keep the culture both rooted in tradition and open to innovation and necessary change.

Gathering Places:  The physical spaces where community members gather can do much to communicate culture.  What is hanging on the walls, the type and layout of the furniture, and most importantly the conversations and activities that take place there, can be used to shape and influence culture.  

None of this, of course, is meant to suggest that cultural change is easy or that telling stories or using images is a foolproof means of implementing change.  But, a change that doesn't attend to the cultural context is likely to be short-lived or superficial.

The power of vulnerability

I've blogged here a few times in the past on the concept of risk and its value in certain parts of our lives, particularly teaching and learning.  I listened to a TED talk earlier this week that has reinforced this idea for me.

In her TEDxHouston talk, Brene Brown discusses the importance of vulnerablity, particularly as it relates to our relationships with others.  In a nutshell, she argues that in order to feel connected to others and to experience a genuine feeling of love and belonging, we must have the courage to be imperfect and to allow others to see us as we really are.  Almost paradoxically, this act of embracing vulnerability and living with the risks that come with relationships (e.g. being the first to say "I love you," readily admitting personal weaknesses and asking others to help us grow in these ways, etc.) leads to what she terms "wholeheartedness" and a deeper sense of connection to others.

I like this concept.  I'm still trying to make sense of it and think through what it means for me.  But, I think it has serious implications for the kinds of learning that we experience through our relationships with others.  I'm sure that I would learn and change a great deal more from my interactions and relationships with friends, family, and colleagues if I was more transparent and honest about my imperfections.  This might be the most risky thing I could do.  But, it seems to have the potential to lead to more learning than anything else I might do.

College as an experience

Last weekend I was in Atlanta, Georgia at the Annual Conference for the First-Year Experience.  One of my favorite things to do in between conference sessions is to wander around the downtown area of the conference city and explore a little bit.  If nothing else it gets me out of the hotel and gives me a chance to clear my head.  But, I also find that I learn a fair amount about the personality of a city and stumble across interesting places.  So, last weekend before the conference began I had a couple of free hours and just started walking through downtown Atlanta.  

About 30 minutes into my walk I came upon The Varsity, "The world's largest drive-in restaurant."  I'm a sucker for local burger joints (and I was hungry), so I went in.  It was an intriguing experience and one that left me asking questions about why people are drawn to places like the Varsity.  The food was mediocre at best, the seating was uncomfortable, and the cashiers scream and yell at customers.  And, there are probably dozens of other burger joints in Atlanta that serve food equal to or better than what I ate that afternoon.  So, what's the draw?

The thought that occurred to me--and I admit that it is far from original or earth shattering--was that The Varsity isn't selling burgers, fries, or chili dogs.  They are selling an experience.  Although I could have gone to a lot of other places to get a burger, including the hotel restaurant, The Varsity gave me a unique experience that I couldn't get any place else.  As I thought about it on the way back to the hotel, there were some key components in place that seemed to contribute to this type of "experience":

1.  A clear theme running across the entire experience.  The Varsity is built on the theme of school and athletics, hence the name, the desks arranged in a classroom set up that patrons sit in to eat, the jerseys on the walls, and the multiple flat screens playing nothing but college athletics.  Any one of those things in isolation would have been strange or uncomfortable, but they all played into the underlying theme and helped to tell the story of the place.

2.  A distinct uniform.  All of the employees at the restaurant wore distinctive shirts and hats that were connected to the theme (like Hot Dog on a Stick, but far less embarassing).  And, what was even more interesting was that The Varsity subtly invites visitors to become "part of the team" by providing complementary hats identical to the ones worn by employees (you can also buy t-shirts there at the restaurant as well).  

3.  A unique language or discourse.  Each customer is greeted by a cashier with the phrase "What'll ya have?" which like I mentioned above is generally yelled.  Even the employees running the "gift shop" where the t-shirts and memorabilia are sold use the same phrase to welcome customers.  There are also more sublte aspects of this language, for instance virtually everyone refers to onion rings as just "rings."If definitely falls outside the standard fast-food script and would be viewed as rude or obnoxious somewhere else, but it's part of the fabric of The Varsity and adds to the distinctive experience.

4.  Signature items that would be hard to find anywhere else.  Like I mentioned above, the burgers and fries are pretty average, but The Varsity does have a unique line of desserts (fried fruit pies, the "Frosted Orange,") as well as "chili burgers."  It left me thinking that an eatery doesn't have to have an entire menu of fantastic foods (although some do)--sometimes it's enough just to do a couple of things very well.

5.  Simplicity.  Deciding what to order at The Varsity is a welcome contrast to the sometimes overwhelming task of placing an order at some other restaurants (e.g. The Cheesecake Factory, whose menu boasts 200 selections).  While choices aren't always a bad thing, The Varsity's menu simplifies things tremendously with just a handful of relatively basic options (again, peppered with a few signature items).   The simplicity of the choices allows customers to focus on other aspects of the experience without getting lost in complexity or becoming overwhelmed with sorting through a lot of different options (See Barry Schwartz' interesting book The Paradox of Choice for a great discussion of this concept).

Now it's time for my obligatory connection back to higher ed (and I realize that this might be a stretch).  What if we thought of our campuses, not as places where we deliver instruction, but rather as place where we stage experiences?  I'm not advocating for a fun and games approach to learning whose sole function is to entertain, but for campuses that have distinct missions and objectives (similar to the themes at restaurants like the Varsity) and who design physical spaces, messaging, programs, and curricula that are connected to those missions.  For example,  a campus who makes their values public in the way classrooms are designed, the language academic advisors or peer leaders use in talking with students, and the unique learning experiences they provide (e.g. study abroad, case-based learning, service-learning, etc.) seems to be closer to offering a unique educational experience--one that has the potential to leave lasting impressions on students and, subsequently, help with retention efforts.  But, again, the key here is for all of these elements to be aligned with a clear mission and embedded in various parts of campus.  

The Varsity (and places like it) tell a coherent story about who they are and why they exist and they invite visitors to participate in and become part of that story.  So, what kind of story do our campuses hope to tell and how well are we telling it?

What is the role of "amateur educators?"

The Utah State Legislature began its 2011 session recently, which has meant a fair amount of media coverage of what sorts of legislation might be proposed during over the next couple of months.  One interesting (and pretty controversial) bill proposed by Senator Chris Buttars has centered around the question of who should have control of public education.  Buttars believes that local school boards and the State Board of Education have too much control and wants to shift more power into the hands of the legislature and the governor.  While part of the debate has to do with how money is spent and how to make schools and districts accountable for the use of tax monies, there are also questions about what should be taught in schools and how it should be taught.  

Arguments over who should hold the lion's share of the power over what happens in schools (i.e. legislators or school boards) is interesting  because neither group has much formal training or experience in education.  Granted, there are current and retired educators found on school boards and in state legislatures, but they are surely a small minority.  The bulk of these groups are business people, attorneys, physicians, farmers, homemakers, and others who in some sense become amateur educators with a great deal of influence over what happens in schools.  

There are plenty of good reasons for this to happen.  For the most part, we are a country who believes that education matters and that we all have something to gain from having an educated citizenry.  Consequently, educational issues are seen as impacting all of us, whether we are parents of school-age children, educators employed in the system, or just concerned citizens.  And, because education matters for all of us, we are all given some voice in what happens in schools.  We vote for state and federal politicians who enact educational policy and carry it out.  And, we vote for local school boards who have influence over issues more close to home.  This happens even more often outside of the traditional public school system where we see charter and public school boards made up of non-educators who are interested in what happens in their schools.  

We structure things this way, in part, based on the belief that the "crowd is wise" and that inviting participation from a large and diverse group of people can improve decisions and systems.  The tension it creates is determining when to involve "the crowd" and when to ask educators to apply their expertise to educational problems.  I don't have an answer, but it seems like an important question to raise and discuss.  For example, how much influence should the seven member Provo School Board (an attorney, a college student, a businessman, a businesswoman, and three homemakers) that represents the school district where I live have over curricular and pedagogical decisions?  And, when do the insights and unique perspectives of individuals outside of education bring innovation and improvements that wouldn't have been reached otherwise?

The difference a community can make

It seems that recently criticizing and complaining about the public education system has become a hobby of sorts.  Politicians make calls for reform (Condoleeza Rice spoke on my campus this week and commented on the "disastrous state of our K-12 education system"), parents berate school boards, and bloggers like me make claims for how things might improve.  But, truth be told, not very many of us take the initiative to do anything very productive (so, in some sense this post is a declaration of my personal resolve to complain less and do more).

 

Every once in a while, however, someone will identify a problem, rally support within their community, and make a real difference.  I learned this week about a group of parents in Northern Utah who did that very thing.  The school their students attend was recently designated as a "walking school" by district officials, which means that all students live within 1.5 miles of the school and don't qualify for state-funded busing service.  Not surprisingly, parents were concerned because it meant that they either needed to find a way to drive their kids to school each day (a big problem for some working parents or families with limited access to vehicles) or let their kids walk to school along a route that includes busy streets and very few sidewalks.  A typical “concerned parent” response would probably include highly visible (and audible) efforts to convince someone else to own or fix the problem (angry letters to district officials, impassioned pleas to “remember the children” at school board meetings, or even protests outside district offices).  While those sorts of things are part of a democracy and likely have some indirect impact upon systems, they don’t do much other than let officials know that people are unhappy.  They make no attempt at a solution. 

 

What impressed me most about the story of Ty Haguewood and his group of parents was that they took a much different approach.  Recognizing that the district’s hands were tied and realizing that there were enough parents interested in coming together to develop a solution, they decided to create their own busing system.   They bought a used school bus for $6,000, worked out insurance, hired drivers, and set up a busing system complete with formal bus stops and a plan for storing a huge yellow bus in their neighborhood.  The 83 participating students pay an annual fee of $206 (about 60 cents per bus ride), which seems like a pretty economical deal for parents (not to mention the convenience factor of letting someone else drive) One parent summed up the groups mindset very well:

 

“This experience has been very empowering,” she says. “We often get into the mindset that everything is the school’s responsibility. … But sometimes when you have a problem, you need to try to be creative and come up with a solution on your own.”

 

Stories like this are refreshing because they remind me that everyday people can make improvements in their communities.  But, there also seem to be some critical elements of these stories worth mentioning.  There seem to be some important reasons why this group of parents was successful and able to bring a new idea to fruition:

 

1.  They cared.  This seems to be obvious and is probably the first step in any kind of community action.  A less committed group would have given up as they encountered challenges along the way (e.g. the reality of finding insurance for an LLC, paying for fuel, working out storage, etc.).  This group was successful because there was a critical mass of people that really wanted to make a difference.

 

2.  They made sure to generate support from a broad base of interested parents.  Had there only been a handful of parents behind the plan, not much would have happened.  But, the leaders were smart.  Before moving forward, they made sure that there were enough interested parties that they knew they would have backing.

 

3.  They had resources.  The reality is that the bus cost $6,000.  Had Haguewood and Bruce Jones (another parent key to the success of the project) not had the money and the connections they did, the project wouldn’t have made it very far.  And, it’s not just financial resources that are important here.  Someone (and likely multiple participants) had sufficient time to spend conceptualizing the idea, garnering support, handling administrative concerns, etc. to make this all happen.  A group of concerned parents without time and resources wouldn’t have been successful. 

 

4.  The group included parents with expertise in key areas pertinent to the project.  A randomly assembled group of equally motivated parents in another neighborhood may not have had the same success as did the Sunset Elementary group.  They were able to make this work, in part, because they had parents with particular skill sets and experience.  Haguewood is a real estate agent and likely familiar with navigating things like insurance policies, sales, and bureaucracy.  He also has a commercial driver’s license and past experience as a bus driver.  There are probably other parents not mentioned in the article that brought unique skills and experience to bear in playing key roles in the process as well. 

 

What if this problem had cropped up in another neighborhood where parents don’t have time, resources, or expertise?  Are there things that can be done to bring together concerned parents and facilitate change in those places?